His Assassin and His Blogger
by badgermushroom
Summary: Six months after Reichenbach Falls, John visits the grave only to meet someone unexpected.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: I was supposed to be writing an English paper. Writing this was far more interesting. It's rather intriguing, writing for a character that has no frame of reference. Anyway, hope you enjoy!

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><p>John had officially moved out of 221B Baker Street a month after Sherlock's death, largely because without a roommate John simply couldn't afford to continue living there by himself. Surprisingly, Mycroft had rather generously offered to continue paying the other half of the rent (John had suspected at the time that he still felt guilty about revealing Sherlock's life to Moriarty), but the fact remained that there were simply too many memories of Sherlock at Baker Street. Consequently, John had relocated to a tiny flat on the outskirts of London finding a job at a small hospital nearby, effectively distancing himself from any and all places or people that would remind him of the consulting detective. He had made no effort to keep in contact with any of his old acquaintances, though Mrs. Hudson occasionally still sent him letters along with care packages containing biscuits or whatever it was she happened to be baking (there had been one memorable time she had mailed him a pie, which had miraculously remained intact). The fact that John never replied to anything she sent didn't seem to deter her much.<p>

The one thing his self-imposed isolation did little to influence was John's frequent trips to visit Sherlock's grave. It had become a weekly habit of his, and he went no matter how busy his week had been or how bad the weather was. He had seen very few others, though he had run into Lestrade there a couple of times (both times had been rather awkward, neither of them quite sure what to say to the other). So naturally it came as a bit of a surprise to John when he approached Sherlock's tombstone one day only to find someone already standing there.

_x_x_x_

Sebastian Moran was not, as a general rule, a very sentimental person. As a professional sniper, it would have been extremely detrimental to his career to spend excessive amounts of time agonizing over every death he encountered (especially seeing as most of the death he had seen he had brought about himself). But Sebastian found himself unable to dismiss Jim Moriarty's death the same way he had disregarded countless others. Jim Moriarty had been different. Jim Moriarty had been so very _human_. Of course, he had also been an insane, brilliant, sadistic, borderline bi-polar madman who liked to blow people up when he was bored, but he had been so much more than that. There was Jim Moriarty, consulting criminal mastermind, but then there had also been Jim Moriarty, the genius mathematics professor whose greatest pleasure was helping a student finally understand an equation or concept. There had been Jim Moriarty, the man who liked Jammie Dodgers, jazz music, spearmint gum, cats, fantasy novels, and the color green. There had been Jim Moriarty, the man who had helped Sebastian find purpose in his life again after being sent back, injured, from Afghanistan.

And it hurt a lot more than Sebastian expected that there was nothing to commemorate that man's life.

Since there was no grave for him to visit, Sebastian had to settle for the closest thing he could get: the tombstone of Jim's arch nemesis Sherlock Holmes. It was the closest thing he had to proof that Jim Moriarty had ever existed. When he found himself feeling exceptionally emotional he would drop by the cemetery, which is where he found himself on the six month anniversary of Jim's death.

_x_x_x_

John hung back trying to figure out if he had any reason to know the man standing at Sherlock's grave. He got the feeling he had seen the man somewhere before, though he couldn't figure out why exactly. The man was well over six feet tall with brown hair cut military style, making John wonder if he had possibly ever met him while serving in the army, though he doubted it. John remembered all of the soldiers he had served with and this man had definitely not been one of them.

As if sensing his presence, the man turned, tensing when he spotted John looking at him, though he quickly relaxed, face shifting to a politely puzzled expression. John moved forward to introduce himself, hoping that maybe the man's name would jog hiss memory somehow.

"Hi, I'm John Watson," he said extending his hand. The man stared at him for a second before shaking his hand.

"Sebastian Moran," the man offered in return and John was a bit disappointed that he didn't recognize the name.

"Did you know Sherlock, then?" he asked, part of him still trying to figure out who exactly Sebastian Moran was, part of him genuinely curious.

"You could say that," the man replied. "Don't think he knew who I was, though." The man continued, a wry smile tugging at his lips.

"Yeah, he wasn't the friendliest bloke in the world, was he?" John said, finding himself returning the smile.

"No, he really wasn't," Sebastian agreed. "To be completely honest I wasn't actually here for him," he admitted, looking a bit sheepish. "A… friend of mine died around the same time."

"Oh, sorry to hear that," John said. Sebastian waved off his apology and they lapsed into silence, both staring at the grave in front of them.

_x_x_x_

Sebastian could sense someone staring at him, a sixth sense born from both life in the army and life as a criminal. He turned, feeling his body stiffen as he recognized the person to be none other than John Watson. He forced himself to loosen up, arranging his features into a look of confusion, trying to remember that Watson had no reason to recognize him. He felt himself actually beginning to relax as it became clear that Watson had no idea who he was and soon he found himself enjoying a companionable silence with the doctor as they both remembered the men they had lost, though Sebastian suspected it wouldn't be nearly as comfortable if Watson knew that Sebastian had once had a sniper rifle pointed at his head while Jim had strapped him to a bomb.

"So, this friend of yours," Watson began, breaking the silence. "Were you particularly close?"

Sebastian though about it for a moment. Jim didn't really have 'friends'. He had clients, colleagues, and employees, among other things, but he didn't feel right categorizing himself as just an employee. "I think I was the only person he considered a friend," he replied truthfully after another moment's pause.

Watson nodded. "I think I know the feeling." Sebastian remembered Jim commenting on Holmes' unusual relationship with Watson, often coming up with unusual labels for it when he was bored, his favorite being 'platonic life partners'.

"If you don't mind my asking, how did he die?" Watson asked, distracting Sebastian from his memories of the consulting criminal.

"Killed himself," Sebastian answered, voice clipped. He didn't particularly enjoy the mental images that inevitably followed when he thought about Jim's suicide.

"Oh," Watson managed rather awkwardly. Then something seemed to click in his mind and Sebastian could see him beginning to put the clues together.

"I'm sorry about Sherlock," he threw out, in a somewhat desperate attempt to distract the doctor from figuring out that he was associated with Jim. Slowing his words down he continued, "When I read about his suicide, I was surprised. He seemed like a great man."

"He might even have been a good one," Watson murmured and Sebastian gave an inward sigh of relief that the diversion worked. After a few more moments of neither man saying anything, Watson spoke up in an attempt to steer the conversation away from Sherlock's death, which Sebastian was only too happy to allow. "Were you ever a soldier?"

"Yes. I was a sniper in Afghanistan," Sebastian replied, immediately regretting that he just admitted his profession.

"I was stationed there, too," Watson remarked, looking surprised at the coincidence.

"I know," Sebastian told him. The doctor gave him a quizzical look. "I used to enjoy reading your blog," he admitted with a small smile.

"Ah," Watson responded, looking rather pleased at that. "Always nice to meet a fan."

"Always nice to meet an author," Sebastian replied before checking his watch and realizing he was about to be late for a job.

"Late for something?" Watson inquired.

"Yes, actually," Sebastian nodded, "Sorry to cut this short, but my work won't do itself. Maybe I'll see you around, though, yeah?" He turned to leave, not waiting for the doctor to reply. As he began walking, he heard Watson call out.

"See you, then!"

_x_x_x_

John lingered at the grave for a while, though admittedly his thoughts were farther from Sherlock and closer to one Sebastian Moran. There was something nagging at the back of his mind. Moran had admitted to being a sniper, and while there was nothing inherently suspicious about being a sniper (John was friends with one, in fact), there was something about this particular sniper that set off a warning in John's head. The only thing he kept coming back to was the friend Moran had mentioned. He had been described as someone who didn't have many friends apparently. Someone who had committed suicide around the same time Sherlock had. Someone who may have a connection to Sherlock, considering that his friend was visiting Sherlock's grave.

Suddenly everything clicked and John's stomach gave an unpleasant lurch.

Moriarty. Sebastian Moran had been at the cemetery because of Moriarty. John had just had a conversation with a man who considered himself to be Moriarty's friend, and who also happened to be a military-trained sniper.

John groaned, sinking onto the ground. He had a feeling that his life was about to get complicated again.

_x_x_x_

Sebastian got out of a taxi, case in hand. He went to the nearest building, an abandoned row of flats. Moving to the closest one, he easily picked the lock and went straight up to the roof. Once there, he set the case next to the edge and opened it, revealing his AWSM. He assembled the rifle quickly and easily, well used to the motions by now. As his hands worked, he found his mind wandering, thinking about John Watson as well as Sherlock Holmes and Jim Moriarty. He wondered if Watson had figured out the friend he had been talking about had been Jim. He hoped so. Watson had proven surprisingly good company, and Sebastian figured it could be fun to see where their acquaintanceship could end up going. He would hate to have to continue lying to the man.

Once his sniper rifle was fully assembled he focused his thoughts and crouched down, stabling his weapon on the ledge of the roof. Looking through the sight, he aimed the barrel at the office building opposite from him. He allowed himself a smile as his target came into view. Nothing like a bit of murder to make his day complete.

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><p>AN: I actually did a little bit of research into sniper rifles to write that last part, though it's probably not noticeable at all. The Arctic Warfare Super Magnum was the rifle used by CoH Craig Harrison (of the U.K.!) when he made the longest kill shot recorded (2,475 m).

Also, I only did a minimal amount of editing since it is 3 a.m., and I really do have an English paper that needs to be completed, so sorry if it's a bit rushed.

So, love it? Hate it? Want to hire a sniper to shoot me through the head with .338 Lapua Magnum cartridge for writing it? (Yes, I obviously have sniper rifles on the brain.) Let me know!

-badgermushroom out! :d


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: So, second chapter. I've got nothing much to say, except that I thought it over, and this story will probably end up containing slash, just because I'm me, and that's where most of my ideas end up. So, yeah. Enjoy!

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><p>When John got back to his flat later that afternoon his mind was still reeling slightly from his run-in with Moran. He grabbed his laptop (still vaguely disappointed it was still in the same place it always was; living with Sherlock it had always ended up in weird places) and sat down on his couch, starting a search for the name Sebastian Moran. An hour later he tossed the computer aside, frustrated. He couldn't find anything he didn't already know, though that could hardly be considered surprising if he did work for Moriarty. The consulting criminal was very good at hiding records and creating new identities.<p>

Sighing, John stood and moved to his kitchen table, digging through the rather sizable stack of papers occupying the surface, hoping to find a decent take-away menu. As he rifled through mail and newspapers he found an abandoned, half-crumpled sticky note with Lestrade's number on it, something the DI had given John after running into him at the cemetery, 'just in case you need something'. Staring at the number, John got an idea. He doubted that the other man intended to help by looking up suspected criminals for him, but John was willing to take the chance.

"Detective Inspector Lestrade," Lestrade greeted, sounding exhausted.

"Hi, this is John. Watson," John replied, wondering why he had felt the need to add his last name.

"John!" Lestrade sounded quite surprised that John had actually called, though considerably more cheerful. "What can I do for you?"

"Um, well, this'll probably sound a bit odd," John began, feeling a bit nervous. "But do you think you could look someone up for me?"

There was a pause for a moment before Lestrade answered carefully, "Depends. What did he do?"

"Well, nothing, really, as far as I know," John replied, feeling a bit foolish now that he was saying the words out loud. "I, um, met him at Sherlock's grave?"

"I can't look people up just for visiting a tombstone."

"I think he worked for Moriarty."

"I'll get on it right away. What was his name?"

"Sebastian Moran."

"I'll call back in an hour."

_x_x_x_

Sebastian found himself humming a bit as he unlocked the door to his flat and went inside. Tossing his keys onto his kitchen table, he moved to the bedroom where he carefully stowed his rifle under his bed. Walking to the living room, he turned the television on as he flopped onto his couch, flipping to the news. He smiled as he listened to the reporters commenting on the mysterious events surrounding the murder of a powerful CEO. He made himself comfortable and his cat, Seamus, jumped up next to him, curling into his side.

The cat had been a gift from Jim, a companion for Sebastian when Jim went away on business. Sebastian had thought it was a bit silly, seeing as he had been the one going on 'business' (read: assassination) trips far more often than Jim. He did have to admit that having Seamus around had helped a lot since Jim suicide. It was nice just having another living creature in his flat to keep him company, even if it wasn't quite the same as having Jim back.

Sebastian stroked his hand lazily through Seamus' fur, letting memories of Jim overtake his mind. The cat purred and cuddled closer to him. Twenty minutes later they were both asleep.

_x_x_x_

John was half-way through his dinner when his phone started buzzing. Looking at the caller id and recognizing the number as Lestrade's, John picked up the phone quickly.

"Yeah?" he greeted, voice slightly muffled due to the fact he was still chewing.

"Hi, John," Lestrade replied. "I looked up Moran. Are you sure that you have the right name?"

"Yes, I'm certain. Why?"

"Well, the only Sebastian Moran we have on record died fifteen years ago."

"Of course he did," John muttered under his breath.

"What was that?" Lestrade asked.

"Nothing," John said quickly. "Thanks for your help."

"Anytime," Lestrade replied. "Call if there's anything else you need, yeah?"

"Sure. I'll talk to you later then."

"Bye."

John tossed his phone to the side. He couldn't help but feel disappointed, though he probably should have expected that Moriarty would have covered _all_ his tracks, employees included. Feeling vaguely frustrated he quickly finished his dinner before sitting down in front of the television. Flipping through the channels he paused on a news station covering the murder of an important businessman. Settling into his chair, John let the story fade to white noise, lulling him into sleep.

_x_x_x_

After his conversation with Lestrade, John broke his routine for the first time in months and didn't visit the cemetery again for another two weeks, throwing himself into his job at the hospital, trying to put everything about Sherlock and Moriarty and Moran out of his mind. It didn't work for long though, and soon enough John was making the familiar trip to Sherlock's grave. When he got there he was only mildly surprised to see Moran standing there waiting, though this time he was wearing a suit.

"Dr. Watson," the sniper greeted. John resolutely tried to ignore the man, staring straight at the tombstone. Moran smiled. "So you worked it out, then. I thought you would. You always were smarter than Sherlock and Jim gave you credit for."

John sighed. Clearly the other man had no intentions to leave any time soon. "What are you doing here?" he snapped, annoyed that the one thing he had to connect him to Sherlock was being intruded upon by anyone, let alone one of Moriarty's employees (not friend, Moriarty _did not_ have _friends_).

"I'm not here to kill you if that's what you're worried about," Moran replied, holding his arms up in mock surrender, proving he was unarmed.

"Then what _do_ you want?" John tried to keep his voice under control. Angering an expert marksman hardly seemed like a good idea, even if said man didn't have his gun with him.

"I want to talk to you," Moran said with a shrug. John gave him a look. "I'm serious doctor. Scout's honor. Well, assassin's honor, I guess would be more applicable."

"You just want to talk?" John repeated, unable to keep the incredulity out of his voice. Moran nodded. "For God's sake, _why_?"

"Why not? Why does anyone do anything?"

"You do realize I have the phone numbers of three different police officers, right?"

"But you won't call them," Moran replied confidently.

"Try me," John said, voice flat.

"I don't legally exist, nothing will stick."

"I'm sure we can find a loophole."

"Why so persistent?"

"I just want to know why you're here!" John cried, exasperated.

"I told you why," Moran stated sounding a bit on edge, and John started to get the feeling he was trying to sidestep the issue.

"Yes, but why do you want to talk to _me_ of all people? Surely you have friends or colleagues, or acquaintances you've never held at gunpoint."

"Huh, you worked that out, too."

"Apparently you're Moriarty's favorite sniper, you must have been there when I was strapped to that bomb. It wasn't that hard to figure out." John was starting to get frustrated. He pulled out his mobile and started dialing Lestrade's office. He paused, finger hovering over the send button. "Just tell me what you want with me and I promise that I won't call the police."

Moran looked less than impressed.

"All right, fine. I won't call them," John snapped, cancelling the call. "Will you please just answer my question?"

"Nope."

"Seriously, just like that? No?"

"Yep."

"You're impossible," John sighed, exasperated.

"Just one of my many charms," Moran smiled cheekily with a wink.

"And so modest, too," John shot back.

"I try," Moran joked. "But it's not easy for someone as amazing as I am." John just rolled his eyes. "So, what do you say to lunch sometime?"

"Seriously?" John asked, finding new levels if incredulity. "You think I'd willingly have a meal with you?"

"It never hurts to try," Moran shrugged. "Come on, I know this really good Indian restaurant that's just a block or two away from your hospital."

"How do you know-" John cut himself off, not particularly wanting to know exactly how Moran had found out where he worked (though he could probably hazard a fairly accurate guess). "Never mind."

"Here," Moran said, handing John a card. "Think about it. Call me if you change your mind."

With that, the sniper turned and walked away, leaving John standing in front of the grave alone with a business card with nothing but the name Robert Watson and a phone number. Turning to face the tombstone he said conversationally, "So I just got asked to lunch by your arch-nemesis' best friend. Think I should go?"

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><p>AN: Sorry it took so long to get the second chapter up, but I'm working on a sort of companion piece to this, and I got caught up. Hopefully the next chapter won't take so long.

So, love it? Hate it? Want me to burn in the special part of hell reserved for child molesters and people who talk at the theater for writing it? Let me know!

-badgermushroom out! :d


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: So, I just realized that the fake name I gave Moran has the last name Watson. I swear I didn't do it on purpose. Anyhoo, enjoy!

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><p>It had been two days after John's second encounter with Moran. He hadn't called the number he had been given but he couldn't seem to throw it away. He had inexplicably taken to carrying it with him wherever he went, and as he sat in his office at the hospital he found himself holding the business card, staring at it as though it could give him the answer as to why exactly Moran was so insistent on talking to him. He jumped at a knock at the door, startled out of his musings by the sound.<p>

"Come in," he called, hastily shoving the card back into his pocket. The door opened and one of the nurses, Marie, John thought her name was (or was it Mary? John was rather rubbish with names), came into the room.

"Dr. Watson," she greeted nervously. "Sorry to bother you, but there's a man here that wants to see you."

"Oh," John said, surprised. He wasn't expecting anyone. "Um, tell him I'll be there in a minute." The nurse nodded and went to leave when a thought suddenly occurred to John. "Wait," he called and she paused. "Did he give you his name?"

"Yes, sir," she nodded. "Said to tell you his name was Robert Watson." John suppressed a groan. "If you don't mind my asking, is he a relative of yours?"

"Not even close," John replied tersely. "Like I said, I'll just be a minute. Thanks." She nodded again and left, leaving John to brace himself. Moran was here. At his work. At this point he did groan, letting his head flop onto his desk. He stayed that way for a moment, collecting himself before standing. He left his office and did a quick scan of the area, spotting Moran by the nurse's station. John let out a heavy sigh before making his way over.

"Hi," Moran greeted him cheerfully, and some part of John's brain noticed he was wearing a suit again.

"My office. Now," was all John said, turning and walking back the way he came.

"So forceful," Moran remarked, though following him obediently. "I like that in a man." John rolled his eyes and all but shoved Moran into his office, slamming the door behind them as Moran sat down.

"What the _hell_ are you doing here?" John demanded, moving to the other side of his desk and dropping into his chair.

"You never called," Moran said with a mock pout. "Thought I'd drop by."

"It's been two days," John pointed out. "Do you always turn into a stalker if someone doesn't call you back within two days?"

"No, but you're a special case," Moran replied smirking.

"I'm touched," John said, voice heavy with sarcasm. "Now tell me what you want so I can get on with my job."

"I've already told you what I want. I just want to talk."

"Most people don't put this much energy trying to get a conversation with one person. In fact I think that at this point most normal human beings would just find someone else to talk to. Try a therapist. They could really help you with this whole stalking thing."

"I'm not most people, and I'm definitely not normal. And I don't want to talk to a therapist, I want to talk to _you_."

"Just tell me why," John pleaded, his patience worn thin. Moran sat back for a moment, regarding him carefully, and John noticed that the sniper had remarkably beautiful green eyes. He pushed that thought away quickly as the man began speaking.

"I want to talk to you because you're the only other person who knows how it feels," the sniper admitted. John looked at him confused. "The whole ordeal with Moriarty and Holmes," Moran elaborated, noticing his puzzlement. "The consulting criminal and the consulting detective, the only ones in the world," Moran's voice was quiet, and for the first time John could see the heavy sadness in the man's eyes as he talked about Moriarty. He recognized it as the same sorrow he felt about Sherlock's death. "But they're both gone now and we're all that's left, and I just wanted to talk to the one person who knows what it's like to lose someone like that." Moran fell silent and John sat back, stunned. He hadn't really thought Moran had been serious about being Moriarty's friend before but he thought he was beginning to see just how much the criminal mastermind's death was affecting the assassin.

They sat in quiet as John processed what he had just been. After a few moments of silence, he spoke up.

"I'm sorry."

"It's fine," Moran said, waving off the apology. "It was a little bit too much to hope that you would understand immediately. I have had orders given to me to shoot you, after all. Several times, as a matter of fact."

John let out a weak chuckle at that. "I probably could have gone the rest of my life without knowing that, but thanks for the honesty."

"Anytime," Moran replied with a small smile. There was another moment's pause before he stood. "Well, I'll just leave you alone then, shall I?" He turned to leave, but John spoke up.

"Wait," the doctor said, feeling a bit nervous as Moran turned back to face him. "Um, I get off work in another three hours. Why don't you come back then and we can go to that restaurant you mentioned?"

"Really?" Moran asked, clearly surprised. John nodded tentatively. "Well, great! I'll see you then." With that the sniper left, leaving John to wonder what exactly he was getting himself into.

_x_x_x_

Sebastian felt inordinately pleased with himself as he walked back to the hospital later that evening. In no time at all he was back at John's office and was vaguely disappointed to find it empty.

"Are you looking for Dr. Watson?" Sebastian turned to see the nurse who had helped him find the doctor earlier standing there.

"Yes, do you know where he is?" Sebastian asked.

"He's just finishing up with a patient, he should be along shortly."

"Thanks," Sebastian said turning and finding a seat. To his surprise the nurse followed him.

"Sorry if I'm prying, but are you dating Dr. Watson?" she asked rather bluntly.

"No," Sebastian replied honestly. "To be honest we barely know each other. Just met him two weeks ago."

"Oh," the nurse looked suspiciously pleased at the news. "I'm Mary Morstan, by the way," she introduced herself, holding out her hand.

"Robert Watson," Sebastian used the name he had told her earlier, taking her proffered hand.

"I know," Mary replied. "So how did you and Dr. Watson meet?"

"You seem awfully interested in Dr. Watson's personal life," Sebastian noted slyly, ignoring the question. Mary blushed at that.

"Sorry, I'm prying too much. I'll just go," she stammered, hurrying off before Sebastian could say anything else. He smirked as he watched her retreat to the nurse's station. He wondered if John knew that one of the nurses seemed to fancy him. He sat back in the chair wondering how long it would take, but John didn't make him wait very long. Sebastian stood as the doctor approached.

"Hi," John waved. "Sorry if I kept you waiting long."

"Not at all," Sebastian replied. He noticed Mary watching them, though when she realized she had been spotted she blushed again and rushed off. "Shall we then?"

"Yeah, let me just grab my coat," John said and soon enough they were on their way to dinner.

"So, this is the third suit I've seen you in," John remarked, as Sebastian had, indeed, changed into another suit for the occasion. "Is there some sort of dress code when you work for Moriarty? Do you have to own a certain number of suits or something?"

"You could say that," Sebastian replied with a laugh. "Jim always did like to surround himself with pretty things. Preferably _expensive_ and pretty. And to be honest he always did have something of a suit fetish."

"Whoa," John said as he scrunched his face in slight disgust. "Way too much information."

"You asked."

"I wasn't exactly looking for information on Moriarty's sex life."

"Damn, there goes half my conversation material," Sebastian joked, earning him a laugh from John.

They lapsed into silence again for the rest of the walk. The restaurant, as it turned out, wasn't very busy on Tuesday nights, so they were seated and ordered their food fairly quickly. Waiting, John struck up the conversation again.

"If it's not too personal, what made you decide to work for Moriarty?" he asked, seeming to be genuinely curious.

"I think he was just at the right place at the right time," Sebastian replied thoughtfully after considering it for a moment. "I was just back from the war, injured, homeless, and looking for a job to cover my medical bills, and suddenly Jim was there offering me ridiculous amounts of money to basically do the same thing I did in the army. And then I just got used to it, I guess. And Jim, he really wasn't all that bad."

"Wasn't all that bad?" John echoed, clearly incredulous. "He strapped people to bombs as part of a game. Because he was bored."

"Well, yeah, he did do that," Sebastian conceded. "But it's not like he was strapping people to bombs all the time. He could be sweet when he wanted to be."

"James Moriarty? Sweet?" John clearly wasn't buying it.

"Well, I can't blame you for being skeptical. He did try to kill you." A passing waitress overheard that and gave them an odd look. John and Sebastian tried their best to look innocent until she was gone. Once she was out of earshot, Watson began to chuckle.

"We aren't the most normal people, are we?" the doctor half-giggled.

"Living with psychopaths will do that to a person," Sebastian replied smiling.

"Speak for yourself. Sherlock was a high-functioning sociopath, thank you very much," Watson said mock-indignantly.

"And how is that different from being a psychopath, exactly?" Sebastian asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I don't actually know," John admitted. "But he did like to make that distinction."

Before Sebastian could reply, their waitress came with their food and they tucked in, silence descending again for a few minutes as they ate. After a few bites Sebastian restarted the conversation.

"So, tell me something about yourself," he requested.

"What?" John asked, startled by the statement. "Why?"

"Why not? I mean, it's hardly appropriate to be eating dinner with a complete stranger."

"Yeah, but I kind of assumed you already knew everything about me."

"Jim wasn't obsessed with you. He really couldn't have cared less about you except in matters pertaining to Sherlock, so I'm curious. Tell me something I don't know."

"Well," John replied, thinking. "You already know I was in the army. Probably already know that I have a sister." Sebastian nodded and John went on. "Um, when I was growing up I had a dog named Gladstone."

"A dog named Gladstone, eh?" Sebastian repeated. "So you're a dog person, then?"

"Not really. I mean, I like dogs, but I like cats, too," John clarified.

"Well that's good, because I happen to have a cat."

"You have a cat?" John asked, clearly surprised.

"His name is Seamus. Jim gave him to me."

"Moriarty gave you a cat?"

"Told you he could be sweet."

"Still can't picture it."

"Fine," Sebastian half-pouted. "Well, tell me something else about you, then."

"Like what?"

"I don't know," Sebastian shrugged. "Favorite color? Favorite food?"

"Blue and anything Chinese," John replied. "And yours?"

"Orange and Mexican."

"Really? Orange?"

"What's wrong with the color orange?"

"Nothing, just a bit unusual."

"Yeah, I suppose so."

The rest of the meal passed in idle conversation and soon enough they had paid and were standing outside.

"Well, thanks for this," John said. "It was actually quite a lot of fun."

"No need to sound so surprised about that," Sebastian grumbled good-naturedly and John laughed.

"Well, I guess I'll see you around, then."

"Count on it," Sebastian said.

"All right, just try not to interrupt my work too much."

"Baby steps," Sebastian half-joked.

"Right," John said, hailing a cab. "Good night."

"Good night," Sebastian replied, turning to walk back to his flat, feeling happier than he had in a long time. He was rather looking forward to spending more time with John.

_x_x_x_

John sat back in the cab as it took him back home and it hit him that for the first time in over six months he had been able to talk about Sherlock without getting choked up.

* * *

><p>AN: So, love it? Hate it? Want to sic hungry velociraptors on me for writing it? Let me know!

-badgermushroom out! :d


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Before I continue I want to say thanks to everyone who has reviewed so far! :D I love you guys! Anyhoo, enjoy the next installment!

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><p>A few days after his dinner with Sebastian John was walking to work, as per usual, when an all too familiar black town car pulled up next to him as his mobile chimed a text alert. He pulled the phone out of his pocket and opened the message, already knowing who had sent it.<p>

_Get in._

_-MH_

As if on cue the back door of the car swung open. John considered ignoring the command but he knew it would just get worse if he refused now, so he reluctantly got into the car and let it whisk him away. As the car drove he stared aimlessly out the window until he realized he recognized the route. He cursed under his breath as the car, as he had predicted, pulled up outside of 221B Baker Street. The car had barely stopped before John was getting out and storming into his old flat. He walked right passed the rather shocked Mrs. Hudson, taking the steps two at a time until he stood in the now-empty living room. Mycroft stood next to the fireplace, his umbrella in one hand and a file in the other.

"Dr. Watson," Mycroft greeted.

"Mycroft," John growled, keeping his eyes fixed firmly on the other man, not ready to face the reality of where he was standing just yet. "Why did you bring me here?"

"I want to talk to you," Mycroft replied, pleasant as always.

"Yeah, I've actually been getting that a lot lately," John said.

"I know."

"So what's this all about? I would have thought you were done with me after, you know…" John trailed off, unable to finish that sentence.

"After Sherlock's death?" Mycroft finished the thought for him. "Yes, I rather thought so, too. But it has come to my attention that you've recently become…friendly with a man by the name of Sebastian Moran."

"Yeah, so?"

"Come now, even you aren't that naïve. Surely by now you know who he is."

"Yes, I do, though I don't see how any of this is your business."

"He's a dangerous man, John. He's killed lots of people."

"So have I."

Mycroft smiled at him indulgently. John stared back challengingly.

"Has it occurred to you-" Mycroft began.

"Yes," John cut him off, knowing what he was about to be asked.

"That he could be finishing what Moriarty started?" Mycroft finished the question, ignoring John's interruption.

"Moriarty didn't want me dead," John said confidently.

"Didn't he?" Mycroft inquired.

"If Moriarty had wanted me dead, I would be dead. Same goes for Sebastian. If he was going to kill me he would have done it already."

"You seem awfully sure of that."

"Look, all we've done is talk and the last time I checked, that wasn't exactly illegal."

"You could talk to anyone in London and yet you chose a professional assassin."

"He's as good as anyone else I know."

"Really?" Mycroft asked skeptically. John nodded firmly. "Very well." He held out the folder he was holding. "This is Sebastian Moran's file. I've given you the day off from work. I'd like you to read through this and consider if this is really someone you want to let into your life."

John accepted the folder begrudgingly. "And whatever I decide, you'll respect that?"

"Of course. Anthea will swing by your flat tonight to pick it up. Inform her of your decision. Good morning." With that Mycroft left, leaving John alone.

John set the folder on the mantelpiece and turned to survey the room for the first time in months. The flat was almost unrecognizable without all the furniture and experiments. The wall had even been patched over where Sherlock had shot it. John ran his hand over the intact wallpaper, fighting down the urge to shoot a smiley face into the wall. Moving to the kitchen he reflexively opened the fridge, now spotlessly clean with not an appendage in sight. Closing it, John continued to move through the flat, struck by how very hollow and empty it seemed without Sherlock and he could feel his breath starting to hitch. Eventually he found himself standing outside the door to Sherlock's bedroom. He hesitantly pushed open the door to find that the room had remained undisturbed to the point that if he didn't know better he would think someone still lived in it.

John sat down on the bed, gathering one of the pillows into his arms. He stayed there for a long time, fighting back the tears threatening to run down his face. He closed his eyes and lay back on the bed, staying there for a long while, just letting the smell of Sherlock surround him. Laying there he could almost imagine that Sherlock was still alive, ready to come back from a case.

There was a clatter from outside the window and John sat bolt upright, eyes snapping open. He sprang to the open window and looked out to find nothing. Even though he knew it was stupid he couldn't help but feel disappointed. He sighed. Sherlock Holmes was dead, and no amount of wishing on John's part was going to bring him back. Berating himself John went back to the living room and grabbed the file he had left on the mantle before descending the stairs without glancing back.

"John!" Mrs. Hudson called happily once he had reached the bottom.

"Hello, Mrs. Hudson," John greeted, allowing a hug.

"I must say I wasn't expecting this," Mrs. Hudson admitted. "Do you want some tea?"

"No thanks," John declined reluctantly. "I have to get back. Sorry."

"Of course, dear, no worries," Mrs. Hudson assured him. "I'll be seeing you, then."

"See you," John said, exiting the building. The car that had brought him to Baker Street was gone so he hailed a taxi. Once he had told the driver his address, he settled back and opened Sebastian's file, scanning through the contents.

_x_x_x_

Sebastian was woken up by the sound of his mobile. Grabbing the phone off of his bed stand he blinked at the screen which was currently telling him he had an incoming call from a restricted number. Sitting up, he accepted the call.

"Hello?"

"Good morning, Mr. Moran." Sebastian recognized the voice almost immediately.

"Mr. Holmes," he replied getting to his feet and walking into his kitchen.

"Ah, good, you know who I am."

"What do you want?"

"There's a car downstairs waiting for you. I would be much obliged if you would get into it."

"And what will happen if I follow this request?" Sebastian asked suspiciously.

"I'm not interested in killing you or having you arrested, if that's what you're worried about."

"Then what on earth could you want with little old me?"

"I wish to speak with you."

"So talk. There's no need for this to happen face to face."

"You do realize I could have you killed right now."

"I'd like to see you try," Sebastian snorted, stepping to his left. There was a moment of silence from the other line.

"What did you do?"

"You think I don't know you've been watching me? Really, Holmes, you're losing your touch. It only took me two days to find this blind spot, you know. There's actually three more of them, in case you were interested."

"Very well, we'll talk now."

"Excellent. I was starting to get bored."

"Mr. Moran, I would like you to cease all contact with Dr. Watson."

"No."

"I would be willing to offer you a considerable amount of compensation."

"No," Sebastian repeated.

"It's not too late for me to change my mind about imprisoning you," Holmes' voice remained mild despite the warning.

"Like I said before, I'd like to see you try," Sebastian said, voice hardening. "You'd be dead before you could give the order to bring me in."

"Threatening me won't work," Holmes replied, voice matching Sebastian's.

"Likewise, Mr. Holmes."

"If I might ask, why Dr. Watson?" Holmes changed the subject rather abruptly.

"Maybe it's because he's just so adorable, but I find there's something irresistible about him."

"I'm being serious."

"So am I."

"I could make life very difficult for you if you don't stop meeting with him."

"Back to the threats are we? No wonder Jim hated you so much. You're so repetitive."

"Mr. Moran," Holmes began.

"Nope, you're done." Without ending the call he opened the drawer behind him, one of his many storage places, and grabbed one of his handguns. He then proceeded to shoot out every single surveillance camera in his flat, barely moving from his position. "Goodbye Mr. Holmes," he said into his mobile before ending the call. Putting the phone down on the counter he reloaded the gun, making sure the safety was on before putting it back in the drawer. He walked back into his bedroom to get ready for the day. He had an ex-army doctor to visit.

_x_x_x_

By lunchtime John wasn't even through half of Sebastian's file. So far there was little that surprised him. Sebastian had been born and raised in London, went into the army at eighteen with no criminal record, came out injured three years ago, and was recruited by Moriarty. Since then he had worked mainly for Moriarty as both an assassin and a bodyguard, evidence suggesting he was even put in charge of Moriarty's empire when the criminal mastermind was out of the country. Of course, there was still a good portion of the file to go through, though it was mainly information on Sebastian's suspected victims.

John set down the folder, deciding it was as good a time as any to take a meal break. As he walked to his fridge he was surprised by the sound of a knock at his door. He was only half-shocked to discover Sebastian on the other side.

"I'd ask how you know my address, but I don't think I really want to know," John stepped aside, gesturing Sebastian inside.

"Hello to you, too," the sniper said as he walked into the flat. As John closed the door, he spotted the file sitting on John's kitchen table. "I see you've been talking to the Ice Man recently."

"Who?" John asked as he came to stand next to Sebastian.

"The Ice Man. It was Jim's pet name for Mycroft Holmes," Sebastian explained.

"Oh. Yes, he kidnaps me from time to time and tries to control my life. I like to think we have a special bond. Tea?"

"That would be lovely, thanks." They both moved to the kitchen, Sebastian sitting down at the table as John began gathering everything he would need. "So, find anything interesting?" Sebastian asked as he flipped through his file.

"Haven't really got into it yet," John replied as he grabbed mugs from a cabinet. "I'm not sure Mycroft would appreciate me letting you see it, though."

"Like there's anything in here I don't already know," Sebastian rolled his eyes.

"Fair point," John conceded, sitting across from the sniper as he waited for the tea to be ready. "So what brings you here?"

"What, a guy can't just drop in on a friend?" Sebastian asked innocently. John raised an eyebrow. "All right, fine. Holmes the elder gave me a call this morning."

"Really?" John looked surprised.

"Yes. Tried to intimidate me into leaving you alone, actually."

"I take it that he was unsuccessful," John said wryly.

"You could say that," Sebastian chuckled.

The kettle finished boiling then and John got up to finish making the tea and Sebastian went back to flipping through his file. John served the tea and sat down again.

"So, what exactly do you do now that Moriarty's gone?" John asked, taking a sip of his tea.

"What I've always done," Sebastian shrugged, picking up his own mug. "Just because Jim is dead doesn't mean his criminal empire is. There are still branches of it out there, and those in charge still want assassins."

"So you're still killing people, then?" John asked carefully.

"Of course I am. It's my job." Sebastian frowned. "I thought you knew that. If it's a problem for you I can go."

"No, it's fine," John found himself saying, even though the soldier part of him felt rather uneasy.

"You're sure?"

"No, not really," John admitted. "But I did live with a man who kept human heads in the fridge. I think I can deal with this."

"Seriously? He actually kept heads in the fridge? I thought Jim was making that up."

"Well, it was really only the once," John reflected. "Though there were a lot of other body parts. Donovan found human eyes in our microwave." Sebastian let out a low whistle.

"And I thought living with a man who made bombs out of kitchen appliances was bad."

"Yes, well, we can't all have the perfect flatmate, now can we?"

"Speak for yourself. Jim used to write equations on the walls in permanent marker."

"Oh please. Sherlock used to _shoot_ the wall," John countered.

"Are we actually having an argument about which one of them was a worse flatmate?"

"Yes, I believe we are." They both stared at each other for a moment before bursting into laughter. Once the laughter subsided they sat in a companionable silence until Sebastian checked his watch.

"Damn," Sebastian cursed, getting to his feet. "I need to get going. I have to meet with a client."

"Oh."

"Problem?"

"Just... try not to kill too many people, will you?"

"Well, I was going to be going on a murder spree, but since you asked so nicely I think I'll have to reconsider," Sebastian said jokingly as he made his way to the door.

"Oh, just go," John replied, rolling his eyes.

"Thanks for the tea," Sebastian called as he let himself out.

"Anytime," John called back. The door closed and John sat back in his chair, mind working furiously. He idly thumbed through the thick file in front of him as he seriously considered the situation. A high-functioning sociopath whose idea of fun was chasing serial killers was one thing. Someone whose actual job was to kill people was a whole different story. Still, John couldn't deny that even though he had only known the man for such a short time he felt oddly comfortable with Sebastian. Then he took another step back and realized he was actually debating with himself whether or not he should befriend an assassin.

John groaned and slumped further into his chair. There really was no such thing as normal in his life anymore, was there?

_x_x_x_

A couple of hours after Sebastian left someone rang the doorbell. Guessing it would be Anthea he grabbed the folder off of his kitchen table before opening the door. Anthea didn't look up from her Blackberry when the door opened, she just held out one hand. John gave her the file.

"And your decision?" she asked, tucking it under her arm and continuing to text.

"Tell Mycroft that he isn't a part of my life anymore," John said firmly. Anthea did look up at that and gave him an almost amused look, but then just nodded and walked away.

_x_x_x_

Mycroft looked up at the sound of his office door opening. Anthea stepped into the room with Moran's file.

"Well?" Mycroft prompted as she closed the door behind her.

"It worked, sir," she informed him, stepping forward and placing the folder on his desk. "Watson intends on continuing his association with Moran."

"In that case, double our surveillance on Dr. Watson. And have them replace the cameras in Moran's flat," Mycroft ordered. "And do make sure there aren't any blind spots this time."

"Yes sir," Anthea replied with a nod, whipping out her Blackberry and starting to text. "Anything else, sir?" she asked, not looking up from her phone.

"That will be all for now," Mycroft told her. She nodded and left, leaving Mycroft to plan his next move.

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><p>AN: Just so we're clear, I don't dislike Mycroft particularly, but for the purposes of this story he will be an antagonist of sorts. Just so you're forewarned.

Also, I realized in the previous chapters I didn't do the best job of showing how affected John is by Sherlock's death, so I hope I did a better job in this chapter. Let me know, will you?

So, love it? Hate it? Want to stab me in the back with a rusty spoon for writing it? Let me know!

-badgermushroom out! :d


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Meh. Enjoy!

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><p>It took Sebastian a lot longer than he expected to get back to his flat. His meeting with his client had gone far longer than he had anticipated. The man had wanted to hire Sebastian to kill the heir to some fortune or another, which would have been fine had the target not been a twelve year old, and for all his faults and twisted morals Sebastian still refused to kill children. It hadn't helped that the man had only spoken French, meaning it took a lot longer to convey this fact. Eventually Sebastian had just shot the man in the leg and left. He did have a minor government official to hide from after all. He wasn't so stupid as to think that Mycroft Holmes would leave him alone, after all.<p>

So now here he was, back at his flat as he packed all his worldly possessions into a backpack and a duffel bag. Seamus wove between his legs, meowing in confusion as Sebastian rolled his suits up to fit them in the bag, smiling as he thought of what Jim would have said if he could see him doing that. Packing took an almost disappointingly short time, as it turned out that all his worldly possessions consisted of his clothes, his guns, and a few odds and ends Jim had left behind. The only problem was Seamus, whose mewls were becoming more insistent as he tried to figure out what Sebastian was doing.

Sebastian had gone into hiding before, of course, but never with a cat. He could hardly take him, and he couldn't just leave Seamus at the flat, either. He could take the cat to a shelter, but the thought of abandoning the cat, and a gift from Jim, no less, left him with an unpleasant feeling in his chest. Then a new idea struck him and he scooped up Seamus. He knew the perfect place.

He paused at the door on his way out to take one last glance over the flat he and Jim had shared. Closing the door behind him held an air of finality that settled heavily in his chest. Shaking the feeling off as best he could he walked away.

_x_x_x_

John had to refrain from rolling his eyes at the sound of a knock on his door. He did have a doorbell, even though no one who visited him seemed to use it. Maybe they all had a phobia of buttons, John mused, as he walked over to answer. He was quite shocked to find Sebastian standing on his doorstep once more, bags and kitten in tow.

"What are you doing here?" John asked silently adding, '_again.'_

"I need to vacate my flat for a while, and I was hoping you could take care of Seamus while I'm gone," Sebastian explained, holding out the cat almost like a peace offering.

"You want me to look after your cat?" John repeated, just to make sure he'd heard right.

"Well, yes," Sebastian replied. "I mean, who else can I ask?"

"Wait, gone?" John asked, finally having processed the rest of Sebastian's original request. "Where are you going?"

"Oh, nowhere in particular. I just need to lay low for a while until Holmes stops trying to stalk me."

"Mycroft is stalking you?"

"I'm an assassin who was also Jim Moriarty's unofficial chief of staff. Of course he's stalking me. Probably wants to imprison me, too."

"He wouldn't do that." Sebastian just raised an eyebrow. "Oh, alright, he would. But is all this really necessary?"

"Yes. I have to build a new fake identity, and that takes time. Time preferably spent as far away from the British government as possible."

"How much time?"

"Oh, shouldn't take more than a few weeks."

"And you want me to look after your cat while you're off creating yourself a new identity?"

"Yes."

"All right then," John found himself saying, despite the fact he had never looked after an animal in his life, never mind the fact that this was a cat given to an assassin by a psychopath.

"Thanks," Sebastian said, relieved as he handed the cat to John. "I'll owe you one, yeah?"

"More like you'll owe me ten," John snorted as Seamus wriggled in his arms.

"Make it five."

"Deal." Smiling, they shook hands and then Sebastian was disappearing into the night, leaving John standing on his threshold with a cat. John sighed for what felt like the millionth time in the past month as he closed his door, setting down the cat, which immediately shot off into his flat. John followed after it, wondering, not for the first time, what exactly he was getting into with Sebastian Moran.

_x_x_x_

John didn't see Sebastian again for two months and in that time he could almost feel himself slipping back into the loneliness he had felt after Sherlock's death. Having Seamus with him (while a continuous miracle that John hadn't killed the cat yet) helped marginally, but John was certain he was sliding closer to the edge of insanity. He had a suspicion it had a lot to do with the graffiti that had begun popping up all over the city, always yellow spray paint, always the same message: _I believe in Sherlock Holmes_. It was a source of turmoil for John. On one hand he was immensely gratified to see that there were people who didn't believe Moriarty's lies. On the other hand, it had become a near-constant reminder of who he had lost. John was also convinced it was causing his brain to play tricks on him, and every couple of days he would be convinced he had _seen_ Sherlock; there would be a flash of blue scarf here, a swish of black coat there, a tall, lanky, dark-haired man just over that way. John always had to revisit the cemetery after these encounters just to convince himself that the tombstone was still there and that Sherlock was, indeed, still dead. But all of that was starting to take its toll on the doctor, so it came as a relief rather than a surprise when Sebastian showed up in his flat one afternoon.

John had just gotten back from the hospital and walked into his living room. He was half-way through shrugging off his jacket when he spotted Sebastian sitting in his armchair, Seamus on his lap. He looked a lot different than when John had last seen him. His hair was longer, almost shaggy, and his skin was considerably darker, which John couldn't help but notice made his eyes stand out more, though he quickly beat down that thought.

"John!" Sebastian greeted enthusiastically.

"Sebastian," John replied, unable to muster the same energy.

"What's wrong?" Sebastian frowned as John tossed his jacket haphazardly to the side and collapsed onto the couch.

"Nothing," John mumbled as he ran a hand across his eyes.

"You've seen the graffiti?" Sebastian asked carefully. John looked at his hands and nodded. Removing Seamus from his lap, Sebastian got up and moved so he was sitting next to John on the couch. He pulled the smaller man into a loose hug. John melted into the embrace needing to feel the presence of another person, the proof that he still had someone in the world. And a large part of him knew it was irrational, that he had a number of people he could call who would be there for him in an instant, but for some reason it felt different with Sebastian. John let his eyes slide shut, allowing the solid heat of the other man calm him down.

They stayed like that for a long time until John started to doze off. He was only vaguely aware Sebastian pulling him to his feet and propelling him towards his bedroom. Once there, Sebastian turned to leave but John tugged him back, not wanting to be alone. Sebastian allowed himself to be pulled closer to the doctor, a question in his eyes. John responded by stretching himself up and melding his lips to Sebastian's. It was a little odd, kissing someone so much taller than himself, and it wasn't romantic or sexual, but it felt right and at that moment John wouldn't have wanted to be anywhere else.

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><p>AN: Um… *looks away*… I'll just be over here… Look over there, I'm changing the subject! Inconspicuously! Anyhoo, sorry this took so long, I had writer's block. And a cold. Next chapter is in the works, hopefully I can get it done by the weekend, no promises, though, I have an anthropology paper…

So, love it? Hate it? Want to poke me in the nose with a sharp stick for writing it? Let me know!

-badgermushroom out! :d


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: I live! O.o Almost forty reviews? What is this trickery? Anyway, thanks so much to everyone who has reviewed, and/or favorited! Also, I changed the rating because I really like using swear words. Hope you enjoy this next part!

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><p>The next morning John lay in bed, Sebastian curled around him, and he was trying very hard not to panic as he recalled what had happened the previous night. He had kissed a man. He had <em>kissed<em> a _man_. And now he was lying in bed with said man. An undeniably attractive man, yes, who had the most gorgeous eyes John had ever seen, and goddamnit this was really not helping his situation. His situation being that he was in bed with a man he had snogged the night before, and had he mentioned lately that he had kissed a man? And, yes, he was definitely starting to panic, and his thought train was coming incredibly close to sounding like a teenage girl, but he couldn't really find it in him to care about either of those things because _holy_ _fuck_ he had kissed another man.

"Stop thinking so loud," Sebastian mumbled into John's shoulder, and John definitely would have jumped if there hadn't been an arm pinning him to the mattress.

"What?" John managed, pointedly staring at the ceiling.

"You're thinking too loud," Sebastian grumbled. "Jim used to do it all the time. It's bloody annoying."

"Sorry my existential crisis is bothering you," John retorted sarcastically. Sebastian didn't reply as he sat up and stretched. John couldn't help but watch as his skin rippled over firm muscles. Realizing what he was doing he flicked his eyes back to the ceiling.

"Want to talk about it?" Sebastian asked.

"No," John snapped almost before the question was finished. Sebastian raised an eyebrow and John sighed. "Maybe. I don't know. It's just weird. I've never been…attracted to another man before."

"Really?" Sebastian asked, clearly surprised. "What about Sherlock?"

"We weren't dating," John replied automatically, rolling his eyes.

"You don't have to be in a relationship with someone to find them attractive," Sebastian pointed out.

"I guess," John conceded. "But Sherlock…Sherlock was just, well…" he trailed off, waving a hand in the air in an attempt to convey everything that Sherlock had been. "He was just Sherlock," John concluded simply. Sebastian nodded in understanding, but otherwise remained silent. "So what happens now?" John asked after a pause.

"What do you want to happen?"

"I… don't know," John answered honestly after a moment of consideration.

"Well, how about we start with breakfast and go from there?" Sebastian suggested. "I know a great café a couple streets over." John raised his eyebrows at that.

"Exactly how much time did you spend stalking me?" he asked incredulously. Sebastian just grinned, somehow managing to make it look half wolfish and half mock-innocent. John sighed. "Breakfast it is then."

_x_x_x_

Mycroft didn't look up when his office door opened, knowing it was Anthea. No one else would dare enter without knocking. He kept his focus on his work as his assistant placed a sealed envelope onto the edge of his desk.

"He's back in London, sir," Anthea announced after a moment's pause.

"Who is?" Mycroft asked, still not looking up, even though he knew perfectly well who his assistant was referring to.

"Colonel Moran," Anthea replied anyway, as was expected.

"Current whereabouts?" Mycroft inquired.

"John Watson's flat." There was a pause before Anthea added, "He stayed the night."

At this Mycroft did look up, the action the only indication of his surprise. "I see," he finally said in a carefully measured tone, dropping his gaze back to his paperwork.

"Sir," Anthea began hesitantly.

"Thank you," Mycroft interrupted, clearly dismissing her. She hesitated before nodding once and exiting the office silently. As soon as the door shut behind her Mycroft gave up the pretense of work, leaning back in his chair as he processed this new information. It could be perfectly innocent; Mycroft knew John had been having a bit of a rough time since Sherlock's death, even more so in the past couple of months. Still, Mycroft had a suspicion he would need to be keeping a closer eye on the two for the time being. That decided, Mycroft leaned forward again, opening the envelope Anthea had left and starting to read.

_x_x_x_

After having quickly dressed, John and Sebastian made their way to John's living room on their way out of the flat. Sebastian paused in their progress to feed Seamus. Waiting for the sniper, John frowned when he noticed an odd pile of electronics on his kitchen table. Curious, he went over and picked up a small device from the jumble that looked suspiciously like a camera. A camera specifically designed for spying, to be precise.

"I took the liberty of de-bugging your flat yesterday." John nearly jumped at the sound of Sebastian's voice coming from right behind him.

"Don't do that unless you want me to get you a collar with a bell attached," John threatened half-heartedly as he turned to face the other man.

"Is that a promise?" Sebastian asked with a wink. John resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

"Wait," John frowned, Sebastian's initial statement finally registering. "Someone was bugging my flat?"

"It would seem that way, yes."

"Who?"

"I'll give you three guesses but the first two don't count."

"Mycroft," John half-growled.

"That would be my bet."

"Right," John sighed resignedly before heading for the door.

"Where are you going?" Sebastian asked, following.

"I distinctly remember a promise for breakfast," John replied, and with that he grabbed Sebastian's hand, tugging him out the door. And if he didn't let go for the entire walk to the cafe, well, Sebastian certainly wasn't going to say anything about it.

* * *

><p>AN: For any who still care, I apologize. I really didn't mean for this to take so long, I swear! But school got in the way and then my computer broke. So anyway, sorry! I have included two chapters at once as a peace offering.


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: I gave Seb a new fake name. Cookie to everyone who recognizes it. :)

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><p>Leaving the cafe a little over an hour later, comfortably full (John had to admit, Sebastian certainly knew how to pick out a good eatery) John was startled to see a man outside who looked suspiciously like-<p>

"Greg?" John wasn't really aware he had said the name out loud until the man turned to reveal it was, in fact, Lestrade.

"John," Lestrade said, sounding equally surprised. "What are you doing here?"

"I live a few streets over. What are you doing here?"

"There was a case not far from here. Normally they wouldn't send me out this far, but I think that they're still secretly trying to punish me." It was at this point Lestrade noticed Sebastian. "Who's this?"

"Oh, this is my, um, friend," John paused, knowing he couldn't give Lestrade Sebastian's real name.

"Peter Vincent," Sebastian cut in and introduced himself, shaking Lestrade's hand. "You must be Greg Lestrade. I've heard quite a lot about you." The way he said it, John had no doubt in his mind it was absolutely true, though he was also certain he had never mentioned Lestrade to Sebastian.

"Really?" Lestrade asked, raising an eyebrow. "Well, I'm afraid I can't say the same for you."

"I would be rather surprised if you had heard of me," Sebastian repleid with an almost dangerous looking smile.

"Right," the DI said theword slowly, suddenly looking wary. He stared at Sebastian for a moment longer before turnign back to John. "Well, I'd better get back to the Yard. It was nice seeing you again." With that Lestrade turned and walked away.

"He seems nice," Sebastian commented. John couldn't tell if the sniper was being sarcastic or not.

_x_X_x_

By the time Greg got back to Scotland Yard almost an hour later he was annoyed enough before he spotted the familiar black car idling (in quite an illegal spot, the detective part of his brain noted) in front of the station. Walking up to the vehicle he was quite unsurprised when the door swung open, revealing a familiar brunette.

"So what are you calling yourself today?" It was his standard greeting to the woman considering that she had a different name everytime they met.

"Alice," she replied, not looking up from her phone.

"You really do like those 'A' names, don't you?" Greg noted. Alice said nothing, as per usual. "So, Alice. What does his eminence want with me today?"

"He wishes to ask you something."

"And he couldn't just give me a call? I'm sure by now he has all my phone numbers." Alice just looked at him, arching one eyebrow. "No, of course, what was I thinking," Greg grumbled as he got in the car. "Calling wouldn't be nearly dramatic enough."

The drive to Mycroft's office was quiet, the only sound in the car came from Alice typing away at her Blackberry. Greg often wondered just exactly what her job was that required her to spend so much time doing whatever it was she did on her phone. They pulled up to a buiding Greg knew all too well and he followed obediently as Alice led him inside and straight to Mycroft's office. She disappeared inside for a moment before letting Greg in. Walking through the doors, Greg stopped short at the sight in front of him as Alice slipped out of the room.

"Hello, Detective Inspector," Mycroft greeted without looking up from his desk, currently containing a sandwich amidst all the files. Greg just gaped a little. Noticing Greg's silence, Mycroft looked up, frowning. "Is there something wrong?"

"Sorry," he said, shaking himself a bit. "It's just, I've never actually seen you with food. It's strange."

"Oh," Mycroft sounded faintly surprised. "Well, even politicians need to eat."

"I suppose so, just seems so..." Greg paused searching for the right word. "Normal," he decided upon.

"Are you suggesting I'm abnormal?" Mycroft asked and Greg was sure he was being teases, but that couldn't be possible, because Mycroft Holmes did not tease people.

"Who are you, and what have you done with Mycroft Holmes?" Greg asked, only half joking.

"I assure you, I am very much myself," Mycroft informed him with a small half-smile. "Now, then. I did call you here for a reason."

"Ah, yes," Greg said. "I heard you wanted to ask me something, but for some reason couldn't just pick up a phone."

"I dislike communicating remotely," Mycroft all but sniffed. "Now then, I understand that this morning you had a run-in with Doctor Watson."

"I'm not spying on John for you."

"Now, really. If I wanted a spy I would hire one. Besides, I believe I learned my lesson the first time I tried to convince you to gather intel for me." Mycroft's face remained neutral, but Greg couuld see a glimmer of amusement in his eyes as they both recalled their first meeting. Mycroft had given him the same offer he had given John. Greg had tried to have him arrested for bribing a police officer.

"So what do you want then?"

"There was a man with Doctor Watson." Greg decided not to ask how Mycroft knew that. "I simply wish to know that man's name."

"That's it?" Greg couldn't quite keep the incredulity out of his voice.

"That's it," Mycroft confirmed.

"Um, I think he said his name was Peter."

"Last name?"

"I think it was Vincent."

"Thank you, Lestrade, you've been most helpful," Mycroft smiled. Somehow sensing that the meeting was ending, Alice came back in the room to escort Lestrade out.

"I suppose I'll see you next time you kidnap me, whenever that is," Greg said as he followed Alice out of the room.

"Yes, I suppose you will," he heard Mycroft reply as Alice shut the office doors behind them.

_x_X_x_

Mycroft was distracted from the file he was currently working on by the sound of someone shouting. Recognizing the voice easily he sighed and set his work aside, standing to brace himself against the oncoming conflict.

"Sir, you can't just barge in-" Anthea was cut short as the doors to Mycroft's office slammed open, revealing Sherlock, a very annoyed Anthea clutching his arm, obviously attempting to stop him. Releasing the detective, her eyes flicked between the two brothers apprehensively. Mycroft gave a dismissive gesture and she nodded before exiting the room, closing the doors softly behind her.

"Mycroft." Sherlock's voice was cold and the word was obviously not a greeting.

"Sherlock," Mycroft replied evenly.

"Moran is back in London."

"Yes, I am aware, but surely you already knew that." Mycroft gestured for Sherlock to sit. The detective remained standing. Mycroft suppressed his exasperation at his brother's stubbornness.

"Of course."

"So what do you really want, Sherlock?"

"When all of this started, this plan to take out Moriarty, I asked you for something. One specific thing."

"Sherlock-" Mycroft attempted, already knowing what Sherlock was getting at.

"One thing, Mycroft. What was it?" Sherlock pressed on determinedly.

"You asked me to keep John Watson safe."

"Exactly. Which is why I can't help but wonder why he was just having breakfast with the most dangerous man in London."

"I've been monitoring the situation since it began-"

"Oh, you've been _monitoring_."

"Sherlock, I have been keeping a close eye on both Colonel Moran and Doctor Watson for the past three months now, and I can assure you-"

"Three months? You've known about this for three months and saw fit neither to inform me nor do anything about it?"

"Like I said, Sherlock, I've been watching them both and if anything had happened to indicate John's life might have been in danger I would have taken immediate action."

"Well that makes me feel _so _much better."

"Sarcasm doesn't suit you, brother."

"And caring for people other than yourself doesn't suit _you_," Sherlock spat.

"So hypocritical, Sherlock, what would mummy say?"

"Very little considering she's dead."

"There's no need to get nasty."

"You seem to possess a depressing inability to keep one ex-army doctor safe. I'd say that that's plenty reason to get nasty." Sherlock actually snarled the words and for a moment Mycroft had to wonder if he had been wrong about Sherlock's feelings towards John Watson.

"Sherlock, I am trying, but you have to understand that there is a bigger picture here."

"Right, a bigger picture," Sherlock snorted derisively. "Always a bigger picture with you lot, isn't there?"

"Sherlock," Mycroft attempted, but Sherlock cut him off.

"No, I understand _perfectly,_ Mycroft. I'll let you get back to your _bigger picture_." Sherlock stalked to the doors, throwing them open.

"Sherlock," Mycroft called, but Sherlock had already disappeared. Mycroft sighed, slumping back into his chair. He stayed like that for a moment before straightening and calling Anthea into his office.

"Have this sent to Scotland Yard," he told her, handing her the file he had just been working on. "And make sure I am alerted the instant you finish the search for Colonel Moran's current location."

"Yes, sir," Anthea replied obediently, taking the file. "Anything else, sir?"

"That will be all," Mycroft dismissed her. He had an important phone call to take.

_x_X_x_

"Hello, Doctor Watson."

"You bastard."

"I'm sorry?"

"Don't give me that, Mycroft, you know exactly what I'm talking about."

"I'm rather afraid I don't."

"You bugged my flat!"

"Oh, that."

"Yes. _That_. Anything to say for yourself?"

"I believed it to be in your best interest-"

"My best interest? You took it upon yourself to decide what my best interests are?"

"I told you before, Sebastian Moran-"

"Yes, I get it, he's dangerous. But so was Sherlock, and so are you. So stay out of it, Mycroft."

"Doctor Watson-"

"I don't want to hear it."

"Sherlock asked me to-"

"Asked you to _what_? Spy on me?"

"To keep you safe!"

"In case you haven't noticed after keeping me under surveillance for months I am quite safe. And even if I wasn't, I certainly wouldn't need any help from _you_."

"Doctor Watson-"

"Sherlock is _dead_, Mycroft. And I hereby relieve you of your obligation to look after me, okay? So just leave me alone."

"Doctor-"

"_Goodbye_, Mycroft."

_x_X_x_

It took Greg a lot longer than he had expected to get back to the Yard and he felt a surge of annoyance at Mycroft for taking him away from his work for so long. Once he had made his way to his office he was relatively unsurprised to find a folder sitting in the center of his desk. He sat down heavily in his chair and pulled a sticky note off the top of the folder, frowning when he realized he recognized the handwriting. The note read, 'It was the brother-in-law.' Flipping the folder open, Greg was shocked to find it contained all the completed paperwork and evidence from the case he had been working this morning and he had the identity of the perpetrator.

Greg leaned back in his chair, a smile playing at his lips. Somethimes being kidnapped by Mycroft wasn't so bad.

* * *

><p>AN: I know I've been just calling her Anthea up to this point. In my head, her name really is Anthea, but only Mycroft knows that, and she gives other names to other people. Kinda like what Seb is doing with John. Just so you know, and in case you were confused about the Alice thing.

So, love it? Hate it? Want me to sample the peril of Castle Anthrax for writing it? (not that I would mind ;) ) Let me know!

-badgermushroom out! :d


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